She ignored those with ‘new’ money, preferring to cultivate the local blue-bloods, even if they were impoverished. She was one of the villagers with whom I had a lot of official contact. This was because she was either chairman or secretary of all the parish church organizations (and in those days, chairmen were chairmen irrespective of sex, and they were not described as pieces of furniture, i.e. chairs). Fiona was chairman of the Parochial Church Council, chairman of the Church Fund-Raising Committee, secretary of the parish council, secretary of the Mothers’ Union, secretary and president of the Women’s’ Institute, organizer of the rota for the church flower ladies, organizer of the rota for church cleaners, selector of hymns for Sunday services, compiler and typist for the parish magazine, organizer of sidesmen’s duties, collector of Sunday collections and distributor of hymn books. She would also look after any official guests to the church, such as the bishop or visiting clergy, organizing coffee, lunch or tea for them.
She had not actually reached the stage of taking a service, administering communion or preaching the sermon, but she did tend the altar linen, polish the candlesticks and select the readings, both on Sundays and during the week.
The Reverend Roger Clifton seemed content to allow her this freedom. A charming bachelor, he was very busy because he ministered at several smaller neighbouring parishes and was a member of an ecumenical committee meeting at York. He did once indicate to me, off the record, that he allowed Fiona to undertake all these duties because she did fulfil some of the roles traditionally undertaken by the wife of a clergyman, but in addition he did feel sorry for her; her husband was away such a lot and she needed something to occupy her. For Fiona, the church in all its aspects provided some kind of fulfilment; she was in fact, a stand-in for the vicar’s wife. And there is no doubt she did a very good job.
The snag was that none of the other willing and able ladies got a look in. Fiona kept them all at bay by ruling the committees and other organizations with remarkable efficiency, always being in charge and giving them menial tasks.
They wanted to feel useful, but in fact, they felt used. Throughout her work she used her considerable committee skills to keep the lesser ladies at a respectful and harmless distance. Fiona did everything; she even monitored the vicar’s diary to ensure that he shared himself equally between his parishes, his duties for the York diocese and her village organizations.
But all good things come to an end and in this instance it happened with the transfer of Roger Clifton to an important post at York Minster. Clearly, his part-time church work in York had impressed those in authority. God, and the diocesan authorities, had more work for him and it seemed he was destined for a fine clerical career. The village was happy for him because he was such a charming and capable man, with a genuine love of his faith and respect for his congregation. Although the people of Aidensfield were sad to lose Roger, they were pleased for him. He had been a good, caring man of the church. Accompanying the news of his departure was a notice that his replacement would be a vicar from the Lake District with the unlikely name of the Reverend Christian Lord.
At this news the ladies of the parish scented dramatic changes because the Reverend Lord was married. Fiona might find herself thrust into a less prominent position, they hoped, and this might enable some of them to take more responsibility. They waited with considerable pleasure for the arrival of the new incumbent.
I was aware of all these manoeuvrings simply because I spent a lot of time in Aidensfield and, like the rest of the village, I wondered what was to befall Fiona. In due course, the Reverend and Mrs Christian Lord moved into the vicarage and, after allowing them a few days to settle in, I went to introduce myself as the village constable. Mrs Lord, a quietly spoken lady, was smothered in white emulsion and carrying a paint brush when she answered my knock. Though a headscarf protected some of her hair, I could see the rest was streaked with the emulsion. She looked very down-to-earth and practical and I found myself liking her.
‘Sorry for the mess,’ she beamed. ‘But I thought I’d brighten up this spot. I’ve got more on me than the walls! It’s had a bachelor vicar living here, you can always tell. No flowers in the place, no bright colours, sombre wallpapers. I’m going to make the vicarage a bright and breezy place!’
That was good news and after I’d briefly introduced myself, she ushered me into the book-lined study where her husband was working on some papers. He stood up and shook my hand. I was quite surprised to see that he was a very small man, scarcely more than five feet two inches tall. He had a round, happy face and very thin fair hair on his head. He wore half-rimmed spectacles and peered over these as he greeted me.
‘So God’s law and man’s law meet,’ he laughed. ‘You might be the inspiration for my first sermon, I need to make an impact. Sin and law-breaking . . . now there’s an idea.’
‘Is it a sin to break the law?’ I asked him. ‘It is a sin to commit murder or theft, but is it a sin to ride a bike without lights or drink after time in the pub?’
‘I might just take up those points,’ he smiled. ‘But let’s get the important things settled first — has Ruth said anything about coffee?’
‘Ruth will break off her decorating and organize coffee for the constable and the vicar!’ sang a voice from outside the door.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without my wife,’ he said with an infectious chuckle. ‘How some vicars cope without wives I’ll never know! I could never have been a Catholic priest, I just don’t know who would have tidied my study and made my coffee.’
And so I introduced myself, making it known that I was a Catholic and therefore not one of his flock. We had a long, fun-laden talk about the village, its people, its environs, its problems and those in need. He listened intently, asking me lots of direct questions, and I came to the rapid conclusion that he would be an asset to Aidensfield. As I was about to take my leave, however, he indicated that I should stay a moment longer. ‘I have one curious favour to ask,’ he said.
‘Fire away,’ I invited.
‘Have you come across a lady called Fiona Tucker-Smith?’ he asked.
My response must have told him everything he wanted to know because when I answered in a somewhat guarded way that I did know her, he said, ‘I get the impression that she runs things around here? The church, I mean.’
‘She is either secretary or chairman of every organization linked to your church,’ I said.
‘She’s already trying to organize me,’ he smiled. ‘She’s told me I’m to attend a wine and cheese party next Wednesday, that I must not fail to have one service a month for the Mothers’ Union, that she will see to the prayer books, bell-ringing, flowers and church cleaners and that she will take care of my appointments diary.’
I decided I would explain to him the villagers’ view of Fiona and so I did, saying that there were lots of other very capable and willing ladies who would love to become involved in village events. But Fiona had cornered the market.
‘Thank you, Mr Rhea.’
‘Nick,’ I said. ‘Everyone calls me Nick.’
‘Nick, nick!’ he chortled. ‘I’ll bet everybody says that?’
‘I’m used to it,’ I said.
‘And me! Fancy my parents christening me Christian with a surname like Lord, and fancy me becoming a vicar! Sometimes when I’m leading prayers, I sound as if I’m calling my own name . . . Is there any word from the Lord . . . Lord be with you . . . For thou Lord, art good and ready to forgive . . . I could go on for ever! Anyway, back to Mrs Fiona What’s-her-name.’
‘She does mean well,’ I said in her favour.
‘I’m sure she does. But thank you for telling me about her. Ruth will take care of her, and she will do it in a most kind and gentle way. Ruth will see that the other ladies get their share of responsibility and take their part in helping Aidensfield church and its congregation.’
As I left, I had no idea how Mrs Lord would achieve the impossible, but within a month things began t
o happen. I was due to speak to the Mothers’ Union about my work and on the morning of the event, I received a call from Fiona.
‘Mr Rhea,’ she said in her firm voice. ‘When I booked you for this talk, I said I would be chairman for the evening and that I would introduce you to our members. Well, I have been asked to join a committee at Ashfordly, Lord Ashfordly is chairman, you know, it’s a committee aimed at helping young people to appreciate the church. I am very honoured to be asked to serve his Lordship in this way, but it means I cannot chair your meeting. Both meetings are on the same night. Mrs Burley, the auctioneer’s wife, is vice-chairman, and she will act for me at the Mothers’ Union. I thought you ought to know.’
I thanked her for keeping me informed but, so far as I knew, this was the first time that Fiona had not fulfilled one of her many functions. When I arrived at the meeting, I found Mrs Burley firmly in the chair, with the vicar’s wife at her side. After my talk, we had coffee and I managed to catch Ruth Lord for a few moments’ talk. After the preliminaries, I found myself alone with her and made the comment, ‘Fiona Tucker-Smith is attending another meeting?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘I felt that a woman of her skills and determination had so much to offer and when I heard of a vacancy on Lord Ashfordly’s committee, I felt it was perfect for her. And, Nick,’ she smiled. ‘I do know that the Archbishop is seeking someone to represent the diocese on the Church of England Children’s Society, a most worthy charity. I have nominated Fiona for that too; they meet once a month in York. I did tell her that several past members of that committee have featured in the Queen’s Birthday Honours lists . . . I believe Fiona is very keen to become involved.’
‘It would mean her giving up some of her local work?’
‘It would indeed,’ smiled Ruth Lord. ‘And I’m sure we can find lots of capable replacements. I have a feeling we might need quite a lot.’
I smiled at her. She was a very pleasant lady and she was removing Fiona in a most graceful manner, and at the same time not dominating the organizations herself. This was the art of delegation; I felt that the Reverend and Mrs Lord would do the Lord’s work at Aidensfield in a very acceptable way.
9. Faith, Hope and Charity
Man is by his constitution a religious animal.
EDMUND BURKE, 1729–97
There is little doubt that the arrival of the Reverend Christian Lord and his admirable wife did result in an upsurge of interest in church matters at Aidensfield. The new vicar could preach an interesting and thought-provoking sermon, he had a sense of humour, he loved meeting the public and his wife soon began to take an active, but not domineering, part in the varied events of the village. Within a very short time the congregation at the Anglican parish church began to increase while the entire village welcomed the Reverend Lord and Mrs Lord to our peaceful rural community.
That is not to say that the previous vicar, Roger Clifton had been ineffective — he hadn’t. Roger had been a very capable, kind and successful vicar and he had served Aidensfield as well as anyone could. He was right for that time. If anything, though, he lacked charisma; steady and reliable, he maintained a close and devoted following, but did not attract any new members of the faithful. His congregations were very static, comprising the same few each Sunday.
But in life, change is inevitable and the acceptance of change is important. The 1960s were times of great change, both in attitudes and in organizations in this country and overseas. The police service was changing and so was the church — and all change should be welcomed if it is harnessed for the good of the community. With Roger Clifton’s departure, therefore, the Anglican parish was bound to experience changes and so it did.
The Catholic community of Aidensfield, of which I was part, also welcomed the new vicar; although the true spirit of ecumenism had not yet filtered to Aidensfield, it is fair to say that the Catholics and the Anglicans of Aidensfield and district did exist in mutual friendship even if they could not understand, or did not wish to understand, one another’s long-held and cherished beliefs.
The older and more entrenched Anglicans continued to refer to the Catholics as Romans. They seemed to think we were foreigners or had some unwholesome allegiance to a foreign power. It seemed beyond their reasoning to credit Christ with having established a universal church which was not centred upon the United Kingdom — I’m sure some of them thought that Bethlehem and Jerusalem should really have been part of the British Empire. Those older Protestants never called us Catholics; they believed they belonged to the one, true Catholic church even though the law of England said the head of their church must be a Protestant.
The law also said that the head of the Church of England could never marry a Catholic. What the Protestants failed to realize was that the term ‘Roman’ Catholic did not come into use until the end of the sixteenth century — and then only in Britain. It is by no means a universal term. It seems to have been coined in England, a typically English means of implying there was something not quite English about the older, world-wide Catholic faith.
I was quite astonished to find that a lot of Anglicans had, and still have, no idea of the history of their own church, not knowing the drama and cruelty of the Reformation, not realizing that their church was not formed until the sixteenth century. There had been a church in England from the time of St Augustine’s arrival in Canterbury in AD 596 — and he was a Catholic, having been sent by Pope Gregory I to convert the English. He was the first Archbishop of Canterbury, almost a thousand years before the Church of England was formed, the faith he brought came from God and from Rome. It was not the Church of England nor was it the Protestant faith. Augustine brought the church to England, he helped to establish the church in England, not the Church of England.
That church, with its new and Protestant faith, was not established until 1559 — and it was then imposed on this country by the law of the land.
Thus the Church of England is less than 450 years old with no apostolic origins, it is state-controlled and paradoxically claims to be both Catholic and Protestant. It was members of that ancient Catholic church who built all those fine abbeys and churches which Henry VIII later crushed as he was trying to eradicate all evidence of the former church from this land.
Many of the faithful Anglicans of Aidensfield could not understand the ancient impact of English law upon their church — statutes such as the Acts of Supremacy and of Treason, laws by which Catholics who refused to accept the English sovereign as Supreme Head of the church were found guilty of treason and executed. The King, Henry VIII, declared himself head of the new Church of England; it was treason to deny him that office, and treason carried the death penalty. From the time of Henry VIII, therefore, the English sovereign would be head of the church, not the Pope, and as a consequence it was in January 1547 that King Edward VI became Supreme Head of the Church of England. He was nine years old at the time. Later Elizabeth I became the first female head of a church that is still fretting about the appointment of women priests.
In the centuries which followed, the law of England governed the new church in such a way that church and state became almost inextricably entwined. Even today, the Anglican church is governed by Parliament, which comprises people of many faiths or none at all. It seems strange that the British Parliament, through its laws, has any say in the running of God’s church. To those outside the Church of England it seems an odd way to govern a church.
The Catholics, on the other hand, viewed the Anglicans with some suspicion, blaming them for the destruction of all their medieval monasteries and abbeys, for seizing all their finest churches, for taking over their lands and executing their leaders. But it wasn’t the Anglican church leaders who did these things; it was the state, although by then church and state were as one.
With the loss of their lands and church buildings, denied the right to practise their faith from the time of the Reformation, the Catholics went into hiding for more than a couple of centuries. In spite of the risks
to their lives, many men did become priests, returning in secret to spread the gospel. So the old Catholic religion survived, often in secret and often at risk of a cruel death to those who practised it. In spite of their treatment, Catholics remained true to their country and to their church, but could not accept that the British sovereign was head of their religion. They did accept him as head of their country, but not of their church.
With the passage of some 270 years, Catholics eventually regained some of their old lost rights through the Catholic Emancipation Act of 1829. This restored the rights of Catholics to sit in Parliament, to inherit land, to join HM Forces, to act as judges and to enjoy a university education. Those and more rights had been denied them since the Reformation, but even now no Catholic can become Prime Minister nor can the British sovereign be a Catholic. If a member of the Royal Family marries a Catholic, then he or she forfeits all rights to the succession. I don’t think the same stricture applies if the sovereign marries a member of any other faith or even an atheist. So, even in the 1990s, there are still restrictions upon Catholics in Britain; religious bias still exists in our fine country. But even if the constitution of Britain continues to be discriminatory in matters of religion, most of the people either do not care or prefer to ignore those old divisions.
For some of the people of Aidensfield, though, those old divisions did cause hurt and anger, and from time to time ancient prejudices did surface. In spite of an outward attitude of tolerance between the faiths, there were still undercurrents which had roots in the badly-named ‘Reformation’ which had occurred more than 430 years earlier.
CONSTABLE BENEATH THE TREES a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain's best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 13) Page 17
